


Dead or Alive

by SnowySithSam



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Limbo, Lust, Netherworld, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Teasing, Touch-Starved, name kink, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowySithSam/pseuds/SnowySithSam
Summary: An arrogant, unstable ghost who wants to be alive and a weird, broken girl who doesn't.Will he use her for his benefit as he's always done with breathers like her, or will he help her deal with her troubled past and present?And will she insist on her inherent grief and hatred, or will she maybe even grow to enjoy the perverted trickster's company?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the movie-universe (maybe with occasional shoutouts to the series and the musical), about 20 years after the events of the movie.  
> Hope you enjoy!

There was no debate about it - the general consensus in the small, quaint town of Winter River, Connecticut was: the large white house that sat atop the hill was cursed. ****

Not only did the big victorian-style house loom above the rest of the village in a highly unsettling fashion, its round windows almost like dark eyes watching over the little hamlet day in and day out, but everyone knew about the history of its former residents’ bloodcurdling deaths.

It wasn’t just the house, the plot of land itself seemed to bring misfortune to whoever chose to step upon it, although, ever since the white house had been built, the unluckiness of its inhabitants appeared to have increased indefinitely.

In recent years there had been a young couple, the Maitlands, who’d died in a car crash in town, then there had been a small family, the Deetz’s, that had moved in shortly after completely remodelling the house. They’d moved out a few years later, after three of their guests had been heavily injured in an unexplained accident on the property, and the house had stood empty for a couple of years - until the old lady had moved in. ****

Agnes Fletcher, a successful businesswoman and a connoisseur of old, unique residences, had bought the house in ‘93, mostly returning it to its original, cosy ex- and interior in the following years. After travelling the world to take up other exciting projects and business opportunities for about another decade, she’d eventually returned to settle down in Winter River. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten to live in the house for long after her return - just about half a year before she’d decided to use the unfamiliar concept of ‘free time’ to visit family down south, dying in a fatal plane crash on the way.  
  
Her will stated her granddaughter Aubrey Fletcher as not only her primary beneficiary, but her only beneficiary, effectively making her the unexpectant passive owner of a highly successful real estate business and several houses all around the globe, including her grandmother’s favourite: the big white house in Winter River.  
  
Aubrey felt like she’d heard stories about the house for all of her life, but it could have been only truly after her and her mother had moved from London to Florida shortly after Agnes had bought the house that she truly had. Even after Aubrey’s father’s unexpected passing due to a sudden heart attack when she’d been only four, her mother had never quite warmed up to her mother-in-law Agnes. Granted, they had always been very different, almost opposites, really. Aubrey’s mother had been an average but hard-working single mother mainly focussed on her own self and her immediate family; Agnes, however, had been a convention-breaking pioneer of her business and an avid philanthropist, caring not only about an extended circle of family and friends, but also working with many charities and doing her best to make the world a kinder and better place.  
  
From a very young age, Aubrey had been obsessed with Agnes. Growing up in a very protected environment, she had never been exposed to someone quite as different and unique as her, and, much to her mother’s dismay, being different from the rest had fascinated her so much she had taken her grandmother on as her highest-ranked role model for decades to come. ****

Her mum’s old Saab shook violently as Aubrey sped across the uneven tar roads, forcing her to slow down, though she could feel the giddiness rushing all through her body.  
 _The house._ She was finally going to see _the house_ .   
She had waited for so long, she could wait a little longer now if it meant her car could survive the rough drive through rural Connecticut. Cities and Towns had gotten smaller and spaced farther apart the closer she got to her destination over the past few hours, the late autumn sun gradually dropping down further and further in the grey cloudless sky.  
  
Her grandmother’s death had come as a gruesome surprise to Aubrey. Of course, nobody usually thought about the inevitability of death more than they had to, but when it happened, it always felt way too soon, especially when it happened in such a horrendous way as Agnes’ death. The Fletcher family had always been what some might call unfortunate when it came to their causes of death, often dying at a fairly young age through generally cruel accidents, like Aubrey’s younger brother Nick had, or later in life from rare diseases or unusual afflictions. There had also been her aunt and uncle’s tragic deaths in a house fire, her father’s sudden heart attack, her mother’s short but horrible fight with cancer and, of course, her grandmother’s recent unlucky involvement in a plane crash. 

****Aubrey herself had almost died as a 4-year-old after a particularly nasty allergic reaction to peanuts, which nobody had known she was allergic to. The single spoon of peanut butter hadn’t only landed her a trip to the emergency room with her throat completely swollen shut, but also a peanut detection dog named Wesley, a young but impeccably trained Australian Shepherd always up and ready to keep her safe from traces of peanuts, since, according to what the doctor had told them, 1/500th of peanut could most definitely kill her.  
Wesley had stuck around for 14 years, a loyal and loving companion to her before he’d passed. They’d buried him in the yard, next to Nick’s pet rats that had died only a few months prior, and Aubrey had never owned a pet since.  
 ****

The dense wall of trees around the winding road slowly cleared, and then, all of a sudden, she could see it in the distance: the small village of Winter River. There, behind the thin wall of fog was the church she’d heard so much about, the houses which, from this vantage point, looked almost as small as on the pictures of the model-village up in the attic of _the house_ that her grandma had often shown her.   
Aubrey almost slammed on the brakes as the remaining trees cleared, and she had her first-ever unobstructed view of it - the white house.

 **֎** ****

He was angry. ****

Not only had he been horribly humiliated and brutally backstabbed by a 14-year-old snooty goth girl that he hadn’t even liked more than as a means to an end - the end being him finally getting his powers back.  
Not only had died _yet again_ and had been forced to wait for what had felt like millennia in a dirty, crammed waiting room, but when it had finally been his turn, they hadn’t even done what he’d expected. Why had he expected to be understood, maybe even treated with kindness? He didn’t know, though he should have. The Netherworld was hopeless, had always been, but he’d been around humans for too long and it had made him soft.  
  
They hadn’t helped him restore his powers or even his corporal form, nor had they granted him free roam in the Neitherworld like they’d used to.  
No, they’d banned him to spend eternity in the same plot of land he’d died on _twice_ now, unable to talk, to leave, to touch, to do anything unless he was summoned. Not that there would have been anybody to talk to - _or touch_ , he thought with a sad grin as he let his legs dangle down from the dusty bed.  
  
When he’d come back from the land-of-the-dead, much more time had passed than he had thought. The Deetz’s had left, as had the Maitlands - he’d neither known nor cared why, when or how. The house had been deserted, the ugly sculptures finally gone and replaced by a mixture of somewhat boring, old-fashioned and more unique, eccentric designs all over the house.   
Still, he wouldn’t have been intrigued at all if it hadn’t been for the old lady.

He’d tried to scare her at first, possessing random objects around her to make her flinch, picking up his speed as she hadn’t reacted, until one night, when it had all changed. ****

He remembered as if it had been yesterday.

**֎**

The old woman stood in the kitchen cooking up dinner, while he was lingering close-by, as usual, when the thought occurred to him:   
_Maybe if he killed her and got her to say his name almost immediately while she’s on the brink of death and sensitive to the supernatural - would she still count as alive? Was that a viable strategy, a loophole to get him out of this misery of eternal invisibility?  
_ With that haphazard thought, he eyed her biggest kitchen knife, letting it float towards him in slow and calculated motions, his mind buzzing in anticipation.  
 _Yes, this was gonna be so much fun, He was gonna take his sweet ass time and enjoy this, and then he’d savour the look on her face when she_ \- then she suddenly turned around to him, looked him dead in the eye and said:  
‘If you’re gonna kill me, just do it. Your little games are seriously starting to bore me.’

Needless to say, he was floored.  
‘Lady, hey, ho, hey, I didn’t notice you, ehh, could see me, totally didn’t mean to kill ya.’ The knife slipped out of his invisible grip but evaporated into nothingness before it could clatter to the ground, while he immediately took a quick step towards her, his movements now almost erratic. As if this was the most casual conversation ever, she’d already turned back towards her cutting board, busying herself with chopping up some carrots.

‘Listen, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve talked to anybody, if you could help a guy out, you know, just say my name a couple times would really just about make my life not a living hell anymore.’  
Her eyes found him again, and her voice was calm and soft, but with a certain edge to it that he couldn’t help but notice.  
‘Listen, bud, I know who you are. I’ll tolerate you around this house as long as you behave, but if you won’t, I’ll have my ways to get rid of you.’ The glint in her eyes assured him she wasn’t lying, and he suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Yes, Agnes Fletcher had officially managed to make Betelgeuse himself speechless. 

****‘Got it?’ She turned away again, as if suddenly disinterested, and he propped himself up on the kitchen counter as he struggled to stammer his reply.  
‘Got it, I mean, G-Gotcha, lady, but - ‘ As if she just remembered something, she dropped her knife back on the counter spilling little bits of carrots all over the kitchen floor and within the blink of an eye, she was standing right in front of him.  
‘Shh. You listen to me. Can you focus for a moment?’ _Who was this lady, his fucking mother?_  
‘How dare you speak to me like that, I’m a fucking- ow!’ Just as he was starting his angry tirade, her hand grabbed him by the ear, pulling him down from the counter.  
 _How could she touch him, he wasn’t even in his corporal form? How was she not afraid of him? How could she even SEE him? What THE FUCK was happening?_ _  
_Her other hand grabbed his scruffy face, turning it towards her in one swift motion, effectively focussing his attention back on her. _  
_‘Listen. To. Me.’ Her short, well-manicured fingernails scraped along his ear uncomfortably, and, although he felt her warm body temperature quickly heating up his cold, long-dead skin and was almost tempted to lean into her touch, he kept his focus on her.  
‘I’ll die in a few weeks, and I could use your help.’

As if a weight had been lifted off of him, Betelgeuse immediately relaxed. _  
He’d won the upper hand again, as usual. This breather needed his help, as most others did, so she wasn’t so very special after all._ _  
_‘Ahhh, now I’m gettin’ ya. What do you want me to do: prevent your death, kill someone for ya, nuke the town, nuke the whole planet? I’ll do anything if you get me out of here in return.’ The old lady hadn’t moved an inch away from him, but now she slowly folded her hands on top of her stomach as she took a deep breath.  
‘I know you would, but I don’t mean that kind of help. My death is predestined, and I’m in no way looking for a way to avert it.’  
 _What?_  
‘Wha - then what do you want?’  
‘I need another kind of service from you.’   
Instantly, he felt his face curve into a sly smile as his confidence came surging back. Within moments, he closed the small distance between them and let his hand slink around her waist suavely.  
‘Oh, wouldn’ta taken you for the type with a ghost fetish, lady, haven’t done it in a couple centuries so I might be a little rusty, but I’ll be sure to give ya a good time, ya look like ya need it -’ When leaning down to bury his face in her neck, she suddenly pushed him away hard so that his back crashed into the edge of the counter so painfully that it had knocked the breath out of him - figuratively speaking.

‘Not that kinda service you pig.’ Her expression was distinctly disgusted while she quickly dusted herself off with her hands.  
‘Could you just listen? My granddaughter is gonna move in here after I pass, I don’t know exactly when, but I need you to be decent - nice, even, if you know what that means.’  
The southern drawl rolled from her lips so smoothly that he found himself listening intently, despite softly rubbing his still throbbing spine.  
‘I can play nice, lady, especially when a pretty girl’s involved.’  
‘You keep your filthy hands off of her!’ As if whispering to herself, she quietly added: ‘‘Cept she doesn’t want you to, but let’s hope for the best.’

His interest was piqued, and he found himself once more wondering what the fuck was going on.  
‘What do you mean, why do you know all this stuff, lady? You a medium?’ She smiled, the kind of smile you give a child when it asks questions they wouldn’t yet understand the answers to and shook her head softly.  
‘Close enough. Listen, she’ll need peace and quiet, she’s been through a lot, and I can’t have you annoyin’ her for the rest of time. But if you play nice, I can promise you something good.'  
‘That I’ll get laid? Won’t have ta be all nice for that, you know.’ Her smile turned into an expression of offended disgust within moments and he noticed that she’d seemingly subconsciously taken another step away from him.  
'Jesus, can you just not think about sex for a minute?’  
‘That’s a hard thing to do for a dead guy like me. Ya wanna know what else is hard, thinkin' about your pretty little girl?’ He moved his hands in a vague gesture towards his crotch and she quickly averted her eyes and clenched her fists.  
‘Okay, no, no, no.’ There was a distinct change within her as she muttered those words. Her posture suddenly changed for the better, her eyes were now positively glowing as she surged back towards him, swiftly raising her hand upwards towards his face. Just when he was certain she was going to slap him full-force, her hand stopped right before his mouth, and with a quick flick of her wrist, she manifested a zipper around his lips and, with one sudden movement, fastened his lips together, completely silencing him.  
  
 _What. The. Fuck. What the FUCK was happening, she wasn’t dead, was she? She couldn’t be - what - how could she control reality this way, how could she - what?!_

With her pointer finger loosely pressed against the center of his lips in a parody of a shushing motion, he found himself meeting her dominant gaze once more.  
‘If you play nice, and I mean **nice** , she’ll free you. Not immediately, you have to be patient, but she’ll free ya and you’ll be able to… do whatever you want.’  
He broke out of his frozen state with little struggle and quickly wiped the weird zipper away to voice his surprise.  
‘You mean she’ll marry me… willingly?’  
The lady squinted her eyes as if trying to see something far away without her glasses, though she was clearly wearing hers, and slowly nodded her head.  
‘I can’t quite see it, but I know you’ll be free, no restrictions, no boundaries, if you do it right. If you fuck up, she’ll leave and you’ll likely be stuck here forever.’  
‘Good prospects, lady.’  
‘Indeed.’  
 _A girl would marry him - him! - willingly? And all he’d have to do was behave like a somewhat decent guy?_ The old lady seemed to read him like an open book, and he felt deeply unsettled. This had never ever happened before. Not giving him time to think, Agnes kept going.  
‘You’re a fuck-up, boy. You’ve made terrible mistakes, and now you’re lonely, you’re desperate, you’re -  
‘Horny, geez, don’t have to tell me, I already know.’  
Now, there was a long pause in which he let his mind roam free, his unanswered questions filling his brain with confusion as his first feeling of hope in centuries began warmly pooling around his solar plexus; _the girl was gonna marry him…  
_ ‘So you’ll do it?’  
‘To be free?’ He paused for just a moment, his eyes now intently focused on her.  
‘I’d do anything.’

**֎**

The cold wind hit her like a slap in the face as she exited the small house of the realtor. The blonde middle-aged woman who’d disturbingly worn nothing but a rather eccentric shade of pink, including a polkadot bow on top of her tightly permed hair had assured her to go ahead and drive up the pathway to the house, she would meet her there in about 10 minutes.

As she walked down the shallow steps back towards her car, Aubrey took a moment to focus on her breathing as she took in her surroundings. The layer of frost on the surrounding grass had started to dissipate, slowly melting in the warm light of the setting sun, the tall, old church was now throwing a deep, long shadow upon the few remaining flowers wilting beside the pavement and two young kids that were playing in the yard, but now somewhat hesitantly started running up to her.  
As they came closer, she identified them as an older raven-haired boy of maybe eleven and a younger girl, possibly his sister, of maybe about five years of age whose dark, curly bangs were thrust back into her eyes at every minor gust of wind. Their hands were linked in a comforting grasp, and the smaller girl seemed to be trying to hold the boy back from approaching Aubrey. Still, with age came strength, and he pulled her after him as if she wasn’t even there. 

‘Are you moving into the house on the hill?’ He asked with a high, inquisitive tone, his eyebrows raised in question. Aubrey nodded softly and smiled at the two kids.  
‘Yes, I am. I’m Aubrey.’ Much to the apparent dismay of his sister, the boy took another few steps towards her to shake her hand, until he stood so close to her she could hear his half-whispered question:  
‘I’m Michael. Are… Are you a witch, too?’ Aubrey couldn’t suppress a little smile, but she noted the fear taking over the girls facial expression. _Was she… scared of her?_ _  
_‘Mike, come on, can we just go back inside?’  
‘No, come on, Lisa, just wait a minute. Are you?’  
‘I’m not, no.’ The little girl whose name was apparently Lisa avoided eye-contact entirely now, but Aubrey could clearly see her eyes slowly welling up with tears as her brother continued.  
‘It’s haunted, you know? We see it all the time, the lights come on at night and then there’s shadows dancing around, even though no one’s there! The only one who could deal with it was the nice old lady who used to live there years ago. She was a witch, you know? When she was there, there were no shadows and no weird thunderstorms.’ _The nice old lady._ Good to know Agnes had managed to make herself a name here.   
‘Well, it’s nice of you to warn me but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of that. You know, sometimes teens like to break into empty places to have fun or wreak havoc, that could very well be what you saw.’ _A good explanation._ Right? As much as she wanted to believe herself, the little seedling of doubt that had been planted in her mind long ago started to sprout, slowly but surely. What if there was someone - something - up there?

The little boy shook his head with conviction, his eyes suddenly big and scared.  
‘The _thing_ that lives up there, it’s not human. I’m not sure it ever was. Bobby from school says it’s a demon, and it’ll kill all of us in our sleep if we look at the house for too long.’  
  
 ****Fuck. _Bobby from school_. What was she thinking, letting doubt settle in her mind at the naïve words of a little kid? They were just having fun, telling horror stories around the campfire, as kids did. With a little shudder, she let go of her doubts once more. She was sane, and there was no such thing as ghosts. There couldn’t be.  
‘Don’t listen to Bobby from school, alright? I’m sure there’s nothing weird living up there, and if there is, I’ll make sure it never comes down here to hurt any of you, okay?’  
He gave her a small smile, obviously still unsure.  
‘I best get going. Don’t you worry about the house anymore, okay? If you see any shadows moving around late at night, rest assured it’s just me. I’m a writer, and I often work at night, so it’ll just be me, okay?’  
His eyebrows still furrowed, he forced another smile and strengthened his hold on Lisa’s hand.  
‘Okay. Try to be safe?’  
‘I will, don’t you worry, Michael. Lisa.’ On a whim, she extended her hand to fluff through his hair playfully, at which he giggled before his sister finally managed to get his attention again. Aubrey, however, had already re-entered her Saab and quickly sped away towards the house, unaware of the two siblings standing at the end of their driveway, staring after her with worried expressions.

Back in the car, Aubrey smiled absently as her mind drifted back to more pleasant thoughts of her grandmother.   
Agnes had always had a reason to talk, tell stories and make everyone around her laugh, but her favourite topic had always been the house. ****

She had always been a little… off. Not just in her way of dressing or speaking, but in her way of perceiving the world around her.  
As a child, Aubrey had soaked up every conversation she’d had with her like a sponge, noting every topic, idiom and even her accent which she, as an impressionable, thoroughly British girl, had very embarrassingly and unsuccessfully tried to copy for a little while.  
And yet, it hadn’t just been all of those things - Grandma Agnes had often talked about the spiritual, the veil, and the world beyond. She’d talked about ghosts as if they were the most natural occurrence, had told Aubrey about the ghosts in her own house, the ones in new houses she’d visited or even bought, and then, many years later, about the ghosts in the white house in Winter River.  
  
The red Saab cut through the peaceful snow-dusted streets like a clear intruder, slowly making its way through the oh-so-unfamiliar streets of the small village, carefully approaching the dirt road that led up the hill. ‘Come back again soon!’ was written on a small white sign, and Aubrey shuddered at the sight of the small red-covered bridge.

Adam and Barbara Maitland were the ghosts whose story she could recall most clearly, the young couple who’d died in a car accident many years ago on the very bridge she was gingerly making her way across now. Her grandmother had talked about them a whole lot, so much and in such personal ways that Aubrey’s mother had started suggesting that Aubrey distance herself from Agnes, because she suspected her grandmother was ‘losing it’.

Agnes had assured Aubrey that there was no reason to be afraid of ghosts, especially when it came to the peaceful calibre of Adam and Barbara Maitland, who, even in their afterlife, seemed to have been the loveliest couple known to mankind. She also seemed to remember her grandmother telling her about helping them ‘move on’ after a while, though it had been very hard - ‘Bureaucracy...’, Agnes had haphazardly explained - to help them out of their predicament.  
  
However, according to Agnes, not everything was as harmless and peachy in the world of ghosts as the Maitlands. Aubrey seemed to be able to recall mentionings of demons, evil spirits, incubi and a certain poltergeist-like character who had actively bothered them for a while, but it had only been in accidental digressions Agnes had liked to take occasionally; whenever Aubrey asked, the topic was always dismissed immediately.

‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’ had always been Agnes’ response when Aubrey enquired about ghosts or what her grandma had always referred to as the ‘Netherworld’, but even as she grew to be an older kid, a teenager and then an adult, her grandmother’s stance never shifted. ‘I’ll tell you someday, Aubs. Not now, ‘kay?’’

She’d never told her - of course, she hadn’t. Maybe her mother had been right, and all of this stuff had only been Agnes’ imagination, or maybe she’d made it up just to be able to tell her stories as a child. But a small part of Aubrey knew that her grandmother hadn’t intentionally invented all of these stories. They came from a place of truth, though the question still remained whether that truth was grounded in actual reality, or a place in Agnes’ mind.  
Aubrey’s mind, on the other hand, started to overflow with thoughts and questions. What if Agnes had truly been sane, and there had been ghosts in the house? What if they were still there, as the kids had suggested? What if Agnes herself had come back as one? What if demons resided there, waiting to kill her?

Her thoughts died away as she crossed the threshold of the ridge, reached the top of the hill and finally saw the house up close. The grass around the path she’d taken up here was frozen, everything covered in a thin, white layer of frost, and it made the peaceful white house blend right into its surroundings.  
It seemed like an amalgamation of several different houses, the main house obviously a refurbished victorian building while the small porch with the red door almost reminded Aubrey of an old western saloon, but the tower on the left side caught her full attention and, almost immediately, let goosebumps rise on her skin. 

This was so unique, so special, so wonderful, just like she’d imagined - this was perfect.

**֎**

The old lady had been right. He’d been desperate and lonely (horny, too), so he’d clung to her for weeks after their first talk, not only to monitor her well-being to know when her time would come but also, as he’d quickly started to notice, for general human contact. Having been stuck in a grave for hundreds of years before being let out, only to be killed again and damned to wander the halls of a singular unoccupied building for the rest of eternity hadn’t done a lot for his social life, nor had his obviously obtrusive personality helped him form any social contacts in the past 600 years, so yes - he still was all of those things. Very. Much. So.

Agnes Fletcher had also been right about one other thing: She’d died. Not a particularly horrible death, comparatively - she’d been unconscious before the small plane had even come close to hitting the ground - but still a death he could have certainly averted if she’d asked him to. She was somewhat of a mystery to him, her way of knowing what would transpire in the future, her powers of altering reality in silencing him with just the most casual flick of her wrist, **him** , a demon that would make the devil himself shit his pants in the ecstasy of fright - at least that’s what he liked to think.

The house had been quiet for a while again. Shortly after Beetlejuice had felt her death, maybe a few weeks after, a neighbour had come over to empty out the fridge and trash cans, turning up his nose at the rotting vegetables and dusty furniture, but he’d left before the self-proclaimed bio-exorcist had been able to make him run for his life.

 _Was he gonna do what she'd told him?_ The outlook of the lifting of his curse was a good one for sure, _but being nice?_ He tightened his hand around his jaw, his messy stubble scratching the inside of his palm as he stared through the dusty air into nothingness.  
If the girl was gonna be like that other brat he’d tried to marry all those years ago, he was not - absolutely, definitely not - going to be able to be nice. He’d tried, and he was painfully aware of where it had landed him.  
  
The pictures of that godforsaken waiting room made him shudder, and he jumped up, now pacing up and down the small bedroom.  
 _Why should he do what a random old lady told him to?_ He was his own person, goddammit, and he’d never listened to what others had told him - a fact that Juno especially could attest to - he was going to fucking do what he felt was the right way of going about this, not what _she_ had thought.  
Who even assured him that the girl was coming? Or that there even was a girl at all? If she was, was she even gonna be able to see him? And how would Agnes have known that she was eventually gonna marry him? _Absolute fucking bullshit_ .  
He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for the words of a crazy woman. What had happened to him? Soft and gullible. His face morphed into a disgusted expression before he sat back down on the dirty, wrinkled bed.  
  
 **If** the girl was actually going to show up, he was going to do this _his way_ . He’d scare her into submission, and he’d make her say his name, whatever it took, and he would make it so she’d have no choice but to marry him. If she was particularly annoying, he would, of course, kill her as well. Maybe even if she wasn’t - he really had no reason not to.  
After that, he could leave, go and do whatever he wanted wherever he wanted, and live out his second chance at life as he’d longed to for forever.

He wasn’t keeping track of time anymore; the concept itself became somewhat insignificant after so many years in this house, not to mention afterlife itself, but he assumed it must have been around a year or two before he was awoken from his constant doze: by the noise of a key in the front door’s lock. ****

 **This was gonna be fun.** ****


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for @WallWhisperer - thank you so much, without your kind words I would have never kept going, so I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too! ♡

Aubrey had always had doubts about Agnes’ ghost talk, but actually entering the house immediately diminished any doubts about her grandmother’s soundness of mind. Though she had neither been here nor ever really seen it before, Aubrey was at once overcome by a sensation of coming home, especially because of the cosy surroundings of the chic and functional living room and kitchen, which looked as if her grandmother had just left and no time had passed at all - complete with a pack of Aubrey’s favourite tea perched on the dusty marble countertop, as though specifically left here for her mere hours ago.

However, there also seemed to be a residual coldness, not only in temperature but in the general atmosphere - a deeply rooted feeling of uneasiness, that, in combination with the weird nostalgia the place seemed to evoke in her gave her goosebumps almost immediately after the realtor had left her to her own devices.

After turning on the power and water supply in a shed behind an overgrown garden that, the realtor had assured her, could be _‘stunning if you put only a little bit of work into it, darling’_ , she'd quickly taken to exploring the place.

Having heard Agnes’ stories about the house for a good decade throughout her childhood up until now, to finally see what she’d been talking about was quite emotional for Aubrey. Granted, despite its interesting exterior, it was quite a simple home; the layout and furniture were, for lack of a better term, quite plain. Simple floral corduroy sofas, delicate white lace curtains and old oaken tables and chairs dominated the style of the interior, with the odd trinket or stack of well-thumbed, yellowed books here and there, but it was largely what you would expect from the home of an older lady.

Confirming her initial suspicion, the realtor had behaved quite strangely throughout their entire interaction. Before even opening the front door, she had avidly apologised for not cleaning Aubrey’s new home more thoroughly despite the fact that she’d known the new tenant was coming and Aubrey had found herself feeling vastly uncomfortable around the woman as she blabbered on about Agnes and the ‘totally irrational’ rumours about the house that she’d been exposed to earlier. 

‘They’re just kids, they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ At the same time, however, Aubrey had noticed her hesitance whenever they entered a new room, her paranoid glances into corners and behind doors, as well as her obvious relief as soon as they exited the living quarters back out into the icy front-porch to say goodbye. To claim she wasn’t unnerved by her suspicious behaviour would have been a lie, especially with her prior suspicions about what was going on in the house, however, there was absolutely nothing to confirm any of said suspicions - nothing moved on its own or appeared out of nowhere, as she’d half-expected.

Not feeling as apprehensive anymore after being left to her own devices, Aubrey had explored every inch of the house, noting the layout and furniture, the few cobwebs and dust clouds the realtor lady seemed to have missed, only leaving out the attic - she needed a pick-me-up before she could go up there and see the model, if it was even still there. 

_The model._ Not only was this one of the things, possibly _the_ thing Agnes had talked about most often regarding the white house, but it was the singular thing Aubrey had been wanting to see ever since she first heard of it.

It might have been the fascination of a man having spent months and months creating something from scratch that was so detailed and so accurate (at the time at least) that had attracted her, but if she was being honest, it was the fact that it was a dead man who had built it, whom Grandma Agnes had told her so much about.  
What if Adam Maitland was real? What if the couple was still here, still living in the attic? No, that couldn’t be, Aubrey clearly remembered Agnes telling her about them ‘moving on’, whatever that had meant.

Shuddering, Aubrey shook off her wild thoughts. What was she doing here, hiding out in the kitchen, scared of something haunting her attic? Scared of _something_ proving that the supernatural was real? Why not just find out?

15 minutes after abandoning her house tour and a cup of steaming hot Earl Grey later, she took the creaky staircase all the way up to the top and stood in front of the wooden door for a moment, her breathing ragged and almost painful.

The doorknob didn’t budge when she twisted it, which she’d expected, but she knew from all of her grandmother’s long talks about the house that there had been several skeleton keys, including one that Agnes had usually hidden just atop the wooden door frame.  
Forcing her hand to feel through the dusty darkness above was the first thing that made her feel truly uneasy about her humble abode, but the feeling only remained for a moment, until her fingers curled around something cold and metallic.

The lock opened without resistance, and Aubrey flicked the light switch next to the entryway like second nature, immediately fawning over the model to her left. Agnes had shown her so many pictures of it over the years, the model town mirroring Winter River that Adam Maitland had so carefully and passionately built in the last year of his life, which still lit up beautifully from the inside out, the small strings of fairy lights above the model bathing the whole room in a comfy, warm light.  
She took a step closer again, inspecting the meticulous model as she sipped the last bit of her tea and could already feel the tears stinging in her eyes. _Don’t cry._

Overcome by an urge to touch it, she cautiously let her fingers explore the textures of the small church, wandering over the dusty streets while destroying a few cobwebs, towards an old graveyard, in which a small oak tree seemed to have unintentionally fallen over. With a feather-light touch, she quickly propped it back up and lodged it into the small hole in the model grass that seemed to have been made for it, then stepped back to admire the scenery again.  
  
How she wished her grandma could have shown her the house and all this - how she wished Agnes could have been here now.  
  
The pressing feeling in her chest was back, now quickly wandering upwards through her throat, morphing into a burning sensation settling just behind her eyes and nose - she’d _have_ to cry. Retiring back down to the lazily cleaned living room, she quickly found herself sitting down on the old, surprisingly comfortable sofa in the middle of the room, pulling a grey, seemingly self-knitted blanket over herself almost by instinct.

It had started now, silent, hot streams of tears running over her cheeks down to her chin and neck, forcing her to take another deep shuddering breath before lying down. An hour later, after letting the tears run freely for a while, she finally slipped into long-overdue sleep.

**֎**

This was not what he had expected.  
This was different - _she_ was different.

His plans had all changed when she’d walked in, her brown hair flowing in messy curls down her back, her green eyes inquisitive, sensitive, _beautiful._  
He’d tried to convince himself to go through with it all, it’d be fine, nobody would ever even know that he, Betelgeuse himself, had hesitated - but then she’d started crying.

He was suddenly overcome by the overwhelming need to make her feel better, make her smile, make her - **Shut up.**

The demon crouched down next to the sofa she was curled up on, her body still convulsing with strangled sobs.  
He wanted to… he wanted to reach out so badly. He wanted to touch her reassuringly, pull the blanket tighter around her, maybe drape his arm over her and snuggle close - **Shut. Up.**

He almost stumbled back onto his ass with the shock of these thoughts. He had to leave, _now._ This was _not_ how this was going to go. He was going to scare her, and he was going to scare her good... 

Starting tomorrow he totally would.  
  
He turned his back, with a quick flick of his wrist immediately back on his feet across the room by the door to the hallway, his mind still stuck on the image of her shuddering on the sofa. Would she be okay? **SHUT UP!**  
He waved his hand, from one moment to the next materialising back in the bedroom he occupied - not before snapping his fingers, igniting a roaring fire in the fireplace beside him with a last glance at the woman on the living room couch, sniffling softly as she snuggled tighter into her blanket.  
  
_Fuck._

**֎**

It had taken a few weeks to get settled in.

The house was… weird. As much as she felt at home, she couldn’t help but notice the vast amount of strange things that kept happening all around her. 

The morning after her arrival had been a certain precursor to the unusual happenings in the house. Awakening to the last glowing embers of a fire in the living room’s fireplace which she had absolutely no recollection of lighting had been weird, but now, a few weeks later, that didn’t even compare to what she experienced on a near-daily basis.

There was the persistent cold she’d already noticed on her first day that constantly crept through her clothes right down to her bones (even though she often used the furnace to keep the place boiling hot), there were the creaks of the floorboards at night when she knew for a fact that nothing was actually moving, as well as the unintelligible whispers she swore she heard all the time, but never quite understood.

There were the weird looks everybody threw her whenever she went to the local convenience store, especially the worried ones of the young siblings she’d met on her way up to the house about a month ago, there was the constant stench of cigarette smoke around her even though she was sure her grandmother had not been a smoker, and there were things of hers that kept vanishing either entirely, or, occasionally, just to show up somewhere else.  
The one thing that uneased her the most, however, were the critters.

She had anticipated something like this since the house had been vacant for a long time, but it seemed practically taken over by animals. Even after she’d deep cleaned everything and moved the few things she owned into her new home, they would still show up - and frequently at that.

To be honest, they weren’t necessarily a problem, Aubrey had had a lot of experience with all kinds of animals growing up, but still, finding a giant eastern indigo snake curling around her ankle when she was trying to relax in front of the TV wasn’t particularly what she’d been looking for, neither had the big wolf spider that had crawled out of her cereal box one morning.

And although she had released the spider in the surrounding woods, and, after briefly considering keeping the snake, had also released it close-by, she still felt unnerved in a way she’d never experienced before.  
Clearly, her subconscious was, too.  
Almost every night she had the most surreal dreams she’d ever had in her life, often involving confusing plot lines that lead nowhere combined with bizarre characters whose origin she didn’t have the slightest idea of. Every now and then, she would dream of the house and Agnes, and it would calm her down and soothe her inner sea of turmoil, but then everything would flare up again and she would dream perplexing dreams of monsters, wild animals and a weird person lingering in the shadows, a somewhat predatory look in their dark eyes.

The shadows themselves seemed to follow her, too. Through fleeting glances in barely reflective surfaces or just out of the corner of her eye, she always thought there was… something moving, always just out of reach.

She’d abandoned her prior concerns about evil spirits or ghosts, no longer worried about something hurting her - whatever presence was potentially looming in her new home, it didn’t seem hostile.

_Maybe it was Agnes._

There was no way. There was nothing here, nothing in this house except her, some dusty old furniture and memories. If she were here, she would have given Aubrey a sign. Probably.  
Or maybe, this was all bullshit. Maybe this was all just another way for her to avoid coming to terms with her grandmother’s death, nothing more. She was just grieving - in her own way.  
  
That being said, Aubrey inherently felt a lot happier living here now. Granted, there was still that general sadness, that overarching darkness lingering in the back of her mind, but she savoured the fact that living here made her feel closer to her late grandmother.  
Now, finally, she wasn’t bound by 9 to 5 terms in a shitty newspaper’s journalist office in the city, she was free to live and write however she wanted, and, you best believe, it was a burden lifted from her soul. Being here, being able to live in the middle of nowhere after living in the city for so long, it was like feeling the warm sun on your face after working below ground, feeling the fresh breeze ruffle your hair and fill your lungs with cool, refreshing air.

It made it easier to work. Finally, she could focus on her writing, on what _she_ wanted to do, not what her sleazy old boss had forced her to write about. 

Aubrey’s hands moved hesitantly over the old typewriter’s keyboard, only every now and then actually pressing the keys her fingers hovered over, her mind racing.  
‘What if...’ She hectically crossed out a hastily scribbled thought from her notepad and leaned back for a moment. 

'No, that wouldn’t work…’ Once again, as it seemed to happen quite regularly nowadays, there was the sudden, almost overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke burning her nostrils, sending tingles of disgust straight to her brain.  
The branches outside the second story window were softly rustling against her office window bathed in flickering candlelight, and Aubrey let her eyes focus on the fairly sombre sunset outside, lost in thought.

Her brother Ian would have _hated_ this story. He had never been a fan of fairy tales, unicorns or happy endings as kids of his age might have typically been. No, he’d taken after her and found an interest in the dark and macabre, the spooky and scary, the strange and unusual.  
Aubrey, being the storyteller of the family, had started thinking up Ian’s bedtime stories at a young age, and had been absolutely delighted when he’d shifted away from the ‘stereotypical’ and towards the weirder side of the spectrum.  
  
He’d always liked stories with sad endings - god knows he shared her love of Shakespeare, though their favourites certainly differed, and she often scolded him during their amateur recitals for his half-hearted attempt at a British accent, since he, contrary to her, had mostly grown up in the U.S.  
  
They were both crap at faking accents - had always been. It wasn’t something she really minded, although right now, as she was thinking up a fresh story involving a few American characters, it would have been incredibly helpful to be able to emulate the way they’d talk.  
‘No, Jeff, I swear I saw - I swear - swearrrr, Jesus!’ It never sounded quite right, and it, unfortunately, hindered her writing increasingly often. Her fingers were tightly clutching her pen, trying to scribble her rough conversational ideas onto the worn-out paper of her notebook as she tried to vocalize her thoughts - in an even poorer rendition of an American accent. 

‘I swear, Jeff, there was something, she wasn’t alone in that room - room? Room. Fucking hell.’ It shouldn’t have mattered, absolutely not; however, this day it seemed to get to her. The frustration was bubbling up in her chest and she could feel herself start to grow angrier by the second, gripping her pen tighter and tighter with every failed attempt at a sentence, when suddenly, from behind her, a deep, sandpaper-rough voice drawled: ‘She’s fucking crazy, I like that shit.’

To this, Aubrey had two contradicting reactions all at once. The first was to whirl around in alarm, eyes immediately seeking out the originator of the voice. 

The faint candlelight was barely illuminating the far-off corner of the office but she could clearly make out a man sitting on the corner sofa, dressed in an old robe riddled with holes. His head was turned away from her towards the other window, blond-ish hair styled in a bird's nest of a hairdo, a cigarette loosely perched between his middle and pointer finger on which a gold ring was glistening in the half-darkness of the room.  
A tingle of fear shot all through her body, and she arrived at her second involuntary reaction - to freeze up like a deer in the headlights.  
  
Her eyes raked over him in her panic, taking it all in. How did he get in here without her hearing him? How long had he been here? Why was he sitting on this sofa, why was he in her house, was he gonna hurt her?  
  
His head was still averted from her as he most casually blew the smoke towards the open window, barely fanning over into her direction, still overwhelming her with the well-known smell. Where was her phone? That damned old Blackberry was always gone when she needed it.  
If she screamed, would anyone hear her? Some of the windows were open, and she wasn’t too far away from the rest of Winter River - but for anyone to hear her she’d have to scream _loudly_ and also be very lucky for someone to actually hear her shouting, then decide to investigate and arrive up here in time - she was practically fucked.

The stranger flicked his cigarette so that a faint bit of ash trickled down onto the old sofa, and she barely had time to take in a sharp breath before her frozen stance finally loosened and she leapt from her chair, stumbling backwards.  
Her voice was shaky, as was her whole body, but still came out loud and bold.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

The intruder snapped his head towards her and, in an instant, jumped up from the couch, flicking his cigarette away onto the wooden floor. Aubrey was in shock, certainly, but she could’ve sworn she saw it vanish into thin air before actually hitting the flammable flooring.  
‘You can see me?’ His voice seemed equally surprised as hers, though with a distinct lack of the panic that she was feeling. He was still looming in the half-shadows, while she backed away further and further until her back was pressed against the faraway wall.  
  
‘Get out of my house or I’m calling the police.’  
‘Whoa, where’d that accent come from, babe?’ The smile on his face was audible in his sniggering tone as he leisurely took one step towards her.

‘Get. out. of. my. house.’  
He chuckled loudly at her words and stepped closer, still not quite into the light. Aubrey’s heart was beating out of her chest, her trembling hands pressed firmly against her sides.  
‘ _Your_ house?’ His hands gestured around himself wildly, his hair rustling in the faint wind.  
‘There’s nothing I’d rather do, but I’m kinda stuck here - being a ghost and all that.’ With the end of his ridiculous statement, there was a sudden change in the lighting of the room, spotlight-like beams dead-on the stranger, causing Aubrey to gasp unintentionally. 

In her office stood a tall man, seemingly in his mid-thirties, dressed in a dirty black and white striped suit, covered up by a moth-eaten brown coat, his eyes deep-set, sunken and dark, contrasting harshly against his corpse-pale face. There seemed to be some green… _stuff_ on his face, which looked like mold or moss, completely enveloping his neck and ears, as well as the left corner of his mouth. His hair wasn’t blonde, as she’d assumed in the darkness of the room, but it was a light green, teased to bits to form a wide halo of frizzy hair around the man’s pale face. _A ghost?!_

She could feel her body freeze up again as all these thoughts ran through her head at lightning speed, not able to talk or react as he ran his fingers across an unopened moving box beside her desk.  
‘Aubrey, huh? S’that your name?’ His voice was dark and gravelly, like he’d smoked 10 packs a day for the past 500 years (which was, by all means, possible), his minute movement exposing bits of his forearm, also white as can be, but adorned by not one, but four different watches.  
‘Um, uh-huh.’  
‘Aww, cat got your tongue, Aubs? I’ve barely even gotten started, don’t be scared already.’ His smirk hadn’t faltered, and Aubrey felt the strong urge to slap him and his confidence across the face to show him she wasn’t afraid of him.  
‘I’m… not scared.’ Truth be told, she wasn’t _scared of him_. She was overwhelmed by the thought of what this revelation entailed. If he was a ghost, then… then ghosts were real! Then Agnes would’ve been right, then... then there was a chance to see -  
  
His loud chuckle ripped her from her own thoughts, and she noticed he now stood much closer to her than before.  
‘Absolutely love that you’re British. Alright, mate! Fancy a cuppa?’ Ignoring his terrible, Dick-van-Dyke-like rendition of a British accent and his suddenly conjured up teacup and monocle, Aubrey tried to focus on the conversation. _Don’t let him intimidate you._ _  
_ ‘Haven’t met a Brit in at least 500 years. How’s it going over there?’ He was floating in the air one moment, then, suddenly, reappeared on the other side of the room. Aubrey shook her head slightly, gathering her thoughts.  
  
‘500 years? Same old then, I guess. New queen, no plague, lots of good music.’ She sounded surprisingly calm, and there was a kind of sparkle in his eyes as she stood her ground, now slowly coming back to her usual self.  
  
With a puff of smoke he was gone, suddenly reappearing right next to her, barely even a few feet away from her. Was she hallucinating? This couldn’t be real, could it? This was so surreal, so weird, almost like it escaped one of her novels.  
‘So… you’re a ghost?’ Aubrey barely managed to croak.  
‘I’m the ghost with the most, babe.’ She willfully ignored his self-absorbed grin and vague gesture downwards and shook her head slightly to clear her head. Why did he have to be this flirty?

‘Then how come I can see you?’  
‘Must be a medium, babe, just like your granny. Or should I say your ‘nan’?’ The bad British accent was back, but Aubrey barely even noticed.  
‘You knew my grandma?’  
‘What can I say? I’ve been ‘round this house for a while, sugar.’ _What?_ So was he the guy Agnes had talked about, the poltergeist? Was he the guy - had she been right? Had she known him, had he killed her? No, he couldn’t have, but… Was he dangerous?  
  
‘How - what, so she really could see you? What do you mean, medium, what - ‘ Aubrey lifted a hand to her temple, the other to the wall to steady herself. She felt dizzy and confused, too many questions whirring through her mind all at once.  
‘Jeez, you didn’t know? Didn’t wanna bring up family trouble or anythin’.’ _So Agnes really hadn’t imagined things._ _  
_ ‘No, no, it’s not trouble, it’s just… confirmation, I suppose.’ He nodded slowly and, almost hesitantly, leaned himself against the wall beside him, nearly as if sudden movements would scare her away. His eyes were so curious and... hopeful, in a way? What about her gave him this feeling? _Who was this guy?_  
  
‘This explains so much. So, are… are you the one responsible for all of the stuff that’s been going on in this house?’ Aubrey heard herself ask, even though she practically knew the answer already, her mind racing as she tried to recall all the potentially embarrassing things he might have witnessed her doing during her time here.  
‘Oh, yeah, yours truly, babe. Been tryin’ to scare your socks off ever since you first walked in.’  
‘I don’t scare easily.’ She muttered under her breath, but he apparently picked it up just fine as his lips spread into a saccharine grin.  
‘Is that a challenge?’  
‘If you want it to be.’

He stood across the room from her now, still leaned against the wall, and Aubrey finally mustered up the courage to leave their comfortable distance behind to step closer to him and take it all in.  
Throughout his constant grand gestures, his coat and suit jacket had loosened up and slightly slipped down his shoulders, so she could peek at the dirty white dress shirt he wore underneath, half tucked in, his feet hips-width apart, his pale face only shaded by bruise-like shadows around the eyes. His hair seemed almost more vibrant now, but Aubrey was sure that could only be attributed to the more direct lighting, though she noticed some strands of yellow and pink that she definitely hadn’t seen before. 

He stood still as she examined him, still somewhat hesitant now as if tiptoeing around a shy deer. He grinned as their eyes met, and she quickly fixated on his black-and-white suit again. 

‘Are you, like, a dead... prisoner?’ He paused for a moment, then barked out a genuine laugh, which made her stomach tingle in response and straightened his posture away from the wall towards her.  
‘Prisoner? What gave you that idea, babes?’ _Ugh, stop with the nicknames._  
‘Well, the black and white uniform?’  
‘Ha! No, no, no, the stripes are my signature, Aubs. Not a prisoner, no one ever caught this guy in the act! At least not that kinda act, if you know what I mean.’ He winked and barked out his raspy, self-indulgent laughter. Why was a dead guy so flirty? And why did she kind of like it? _Get your mind out of the gutter, Aubrey._

She stood in front of him now, eyes still raking over him in disbelief, nearly tempted to reach out and touch him, just to see what would happen. What would it feel like to touch a ghost? Would she phase through him? Probably, there was no way he was actually material - actually there. Or was there?  
  
‘So, then ghosts are real. She wasn’t lying.’ The green-haired Poltergeist instantly tilted his head to one side, like a confused little dog.  
‘Who’re you talkin’ about?’  
‘My grandma, Agnes, you know her! She’s been telling me all about ghosts since forever and I could never really believe her fully but now… there you are.’ He straightened his jackets and posture at the same time, puffing up his chest giving her his, apparently, signature smirk.  
‘I’m all yours, babes.’

Aubrey shuddered with her immediate reaction. Why did she _like_ this guy? He was weird and creepy, not to mention no fan of personal space or hygiene. Once again, she kicked out those thoughts, for now, trying to focus on putting him in his place.  
‘Not with those teeth, you’re not. Does being dead mean you can’t take care of yourself anymore? You look like you just stuck one or two of those disgustingly long fingernails straight into a power socket. And is that mold on your face?’ He looked down his own body, immediately trying to wipe some of the moss off of his face, which seemed to come off quite easily, contrary to her belief that it was actually part of him.  
‘Aw, shucks, babes. You flatter me.’ _What?  
_ ‘Trust me, it wasn’t my intent.’ Aubrey snapped back, and he immediately stepped even closer to her, now definitely invading her personal space. His eyes were darker now, somehow glassy in a way as he spoke again.  
‘Listen, I’ve been in a fucking bottle for six hundred years. Well, figuratively anyways. I’ll take what I can get.’  
‘Six… hundred years?’ She shuddered, her mind barely computing the meaning behind his words. He nodded slowly, his eyes clearer again, his mouth slowly curving into a sly smile.  
‘Yeah, well, every dog has his day, and with you here, I just know I’m so, _so_ much closer to mine.’

**֎**

The atmosphere would’ve been perfect. The sun had now set completely, only leaving behind the last bits of colour in the evening sky as the faint rain had started pouring down. The kitchen windows were open, so she could hear every single sound from outside, the faint crackles of her old jazz vinyl lulling her into a false sense of security.  
  
They hadn’t talked much more, her and the apparent demon living - well, maybe not quite living - residing in her new home. Aubrey was reluctant to get to know more about him. She’d rarely ever felt an instant attraction to someone, let alone a long-dead sleazy ghost guy talking only in innuendos and cheesy pick-up lines, so that feeling scared her, as well as the general concept of the afterlife, because, as much as she was curious, she was terrified. 

He’d vanished with the promise to return as she mentioned she needed a moment to herself, which she found surprisingly courteous of him, but now that he’d been gone for a little while, she began to think it was all a ruse.  
The newly sharpened knife slid easily through the red bell pepper she was cutting up, and all her suspicions were confirmed as she spotted the kitchen door slowly creaking open out of the corner of her eye.  
Slowly, as if deliberately led by an invisible hand, it closed again - oh, she’d bet she knew whose hand it was. Was there any bad in playing along? Portray the vulnerable girl that always dies first in those trashy horror movies she loved to watch?  
  
Why not?

Calmly, but with determination, she walked towards the moving door to explore, slowly inching closer to the handle when suddenly, out of nowhere - BANG! The door flew out of the hinges and away from her, revealing her one and only resident poltergeist behind it, his face contorted completely into a horrible grimace, eyes wide open and red, fingers stretched into long, sharp claws, almost as sharp as his long, white teeth, his hair a bright, flaring orange.  
Aubrey was almost tempted to smile at this meagre attempt to scare her but kept her face entirely frozen as his terrible scowl slowly faded in disbelief.

‘Is that all you got?’ She smiled, and he almost stumbled back in shock, his hand raised atop his chest in, obviously, pretended hurt. He scoffed and straightened up, his gaze confused and a little annoyed.  
Her smile widened, ‘I told you I don’t scare easily.’ she insisted again as he finally broke eye contact. His ego bruised, the demon mumbled to himself as he reappeared behind her, very slowly making his way to a corner of the kitchen adorned with a comfortable leather armchair.  
Intending to walk past him and playfully nudge him aside in the process, she quickly hurried past him, elbow out to nudge him in the side with the whole of her weight - when she fell straight through him.  
  
‘Whoa!’ He was quick enough to catch her by the arm, easily but firmly pulling her back up to stand beside him. Her whole body was tingling, especially where his hand still lingered on her upper arm. He was radiating a cold, weird energy, her skin almost felt as if slightly electrified. But... she phased straight through him, how was he holding onto her now?

‘Didn’t think you’d be falling for me that quickly, babe, but I ain’t complainin’’!’ Aubrey felt herself blush, immediately cursing herself for the heat rising to her cheeks.  
‘What? No, I just didn’t know you were… I thought you weren’t - ‘  
‘Real?’ He interjected, his hand still on her upper arm, his smile huge and somewhat self-satisfied.  
‘Corporal.’ Aubrey corrected coldly, and he seemed to take the hint, letting go of her arm to step back, not breaking eye contact.  
‘I can be. I can be anything ya want, babes.’ With that, and a saucy wink, he left her standing by herself, throwing himself back into the comfy leather seat.

‘Why are you here?’  
‘What?’ He barked out, his voice less rough than usual, as if caught by surprise. He obviously hadn’t expected her to be interested, and it almost seemed like his facade slipped for a moment.  
‘In this house, I mean. Aren’t there better places for a ghost to be?’ He furrowed his brows for a moment, intently focused on her before morphing into a mocking expression.  
‘ _Aren’t there better places for a ghost to be?_ ’ He satirized, speaking in such an insanely perfect impression of Aubrey’s voice that she could feel her knees tremble underneath her, before he switched back to his gruff tone.  
‘Sure fucking thing, babe, but it just so happens I’m banned to stay here until somebody frees me. Saves me, really.’ Oh, this was getting _interesting_.

‘Really? And what would one have to do to save you?’  
‘Oh, it’s an incredibly intense process, you wouldn’t wanna know.’  
‘Oh, okay.’ Aubrey turned away towards the stove, absentmindedly mixing her stir-fry on the stove, suppressing a smile. She liked provoking him, that much was clear, and not reacting to his obvious want to have her inquire further seemed like just the thing to do to tease him. The silence hung in the room for a few moments, before he continued on regardless.  
‘Okay, since you’re so insistent, I’ll tell ya.’ She grinned in response, now eager to find out more.  
'What is it, like a satanic ritual or something?”'  
'Man, I’d love that. Got any experience in that particular area, Aubs? You sure dress like you do.’  
She inhaled sharply, rolling her eyes as she continued her ministrations on cooking. _You sure dress like you do._ Not the first time she’d been told her way of dressing seemed to resemble something worn in occult religions or similar scenarios, in fact, many kids in school had done so over the years. Being kind of ‘goth’ hadn’t always been easy, but for her, it was what felt natural, what she liked aesthetically and what she enjoyed wearing.  
‘So it’s not that?’   
‘No - you gotta say my name three times.’ _What?_  
‘That’s it?’  
‘That’s it. Well, to be truly free I also gotta get hitched, but summoning me gives me my powers back and I can finally do things in the real world again.’ Get _hitched_? Was he making this up on the spot, what kind of curse was this? Get married to be free, what was this, a Disney movie? Did he also need true love’s kiss or whatever that meant? What was all this bullshit? And what about his powers?  
‘Your powers, huh? Thought you had powers already.’  
‘Oh baby, you have no idea what I can do.’ She felt a cold shiver run down her spine at his words and quickly changed the subject.  
‘And you really have to get married to be free?’  
‘It’s like a green card thing, doesn’t actually have to mean anything.’ So no Disney, no true love and all those shenanigans. _Good_.

‘So then, what… is your name?’ His gaze intensified by tenfold at her question, though she couldn’t help but notice a hint of sadness in his dark eyes.  
‘M'afraid I can’t tell ya.’ _What?!  
_ ‘Excuse me?’  
‘You heard me, can't tell ya, babes.’ The demon stood up, his bones cracking horribly as he did so, and slowly made his way towards Aubrey.  
‘You know how it is, you know…’ He drawled slowly, as if just delaying the conversation to potentially come up with something to say.  
‘No, I don’t?’   
‘It’s stranger danger!’ He shouted, his obvious amusement forcing its way through his fake-serious facade.  
‘Shut up.’ He arrived at the kitchen counter, slowly leaning down towards her, resting his arms on the grey marble.  
‘Truth be told, I can’t say it. It’s part of the whole thing - part of the deal.’ He gestured around himself again and leaned even closer, so that the low-hung ceiling light now illuminated his face perfectly.  
  
Aubrey felt herself freeze up again for just a moment as she let her eyes wander over him. He had cleaned himself up, like she’d told him to. His skin was barely even affected by the green moss from before, now only faintly tinted in the places that had previously not even been visible, his nails short and somewhat clean, his hair a little less wild than before - he looked… good? He still looked like death incarnate, but definitely not as appalling as before, in fact, he was actually quite attractive? _Get yourself together, Aubrey._ _  
_ He had good features, strong cheekbones and jaw, defined arms and hands and eyes that were a deep, rich blue-green… well, good eyes! And his hair wasn’t half as wild as before, neither were his clothes, but then again, his eyes were just - 

‘See something you like?’ _Fuck._ Aubrey felt the heat rise to her cheeks once more, and immediately turned back to the stove, busying herself with the final touches to her dinner.  
‘Come on, no need to be embarrassed, I know I’m hard to resist.’ _Ugh_ , no way was she getting into this kind of conversation. She needed a distraction, and quick. 

‘You’re the one who bothered them, right?’  
‘Huh? Who?’  
‘The previous owners and the ghost-couple. My nan told me about them.’ His expression seemed weirded out for a moment until he gave her another small smirk.  
‘Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.’ He grinned whilst slowly folding his hands in front of him.  
‘Well, you’re obviously here. So, the Maitlands.’ Aubrey almost felt a little anxious to get the name wrong, her memory not being the best, but she was proven right as he let out an overly dramatic sigh.  
‘Yeah, those guys. I wouldn’t say I bothered them more than they bothered me.’ He paused again, even longer this time, causing Aubrey to turn her attention back to him. He seemed distant all of a sudden, his gaze fixed on his fingers absentmindedly playing with his dirty tie. His breathing was somewhat uneven, and she noticed his hair now looked like a much duller shade of green, almost brownish, and were those strands of red at the crown of his head?  
‘Killed me, actually.’ he muttered quietly.

Now, that just wasn’t true. Why did she assume she could trust him? This all seemed so very sudden and weird, but he seemed to be so genuinely unnerved talking about this. Was he lying? Was he not? Would she have to put up with this for as long as she lived here? Aubrey felt as though suddenly overcome by a rush of anger and insecurity. Why did she care so much already? Did he already slip behind her facade, her feelings - what was happening?  
He was gonna get it, this self-obsessed, dirty old demon was gonna get it, she was gonna vent and she was gonna tell him.

‘Listen, I don’t have to talk to you. Yes, you might be living or… residing in this house, and I understand that’s something I’ll have to accept, same with your scares and haunts and little goofs and gaffs, that’s fine, but I hate, and I can’t stress this enough I _**hate**_ lying. So if you wanna keep on doing that and keeping up this facade: I guess we’ll have a peaceful co-existence in this house with no contact whatsoever.’  
He seemed somewhat impressed, but she could see that hint of something in his gaze - Familiarity. She reminded him of someone. Quite right, too. Aubrey had willfully channelled her grandmother for this, her fierce and strong energy that seemed to intimidate anyone if done right, and yes, it seemed to have been done right.   
‘Got it?’

The green-haired demon was still stunned for a moment longer, before he sprung back to life, back to his manic intonation and wild gestures.  
‘Whoa baby, you got some passion inside ya, don't you? Trust me, I understand, I wouldn’t lie to ya, Aubs, why would I when I’m tryin’ ta win ya over?’  
Win her over? _Come on, he doesn’t mean it.  
_ ‘So what happened to them?’ His eyebrows furrowed instantly, the shadows around his eyes growing impossibly darker.  
‘Fuck, you really want to know?’ Aubrey nodded immediately as he puffed himself away, reappearing sitting at the breakfast bar beside her, his stance annoyed and drained, his eyes still engaged and somewhat excited.

‘The Maitlands used to live here. Boring squares died in a car crash - ‘  
‘Down by the bridge, I know that much.’ He nodded courtly and proceeded.  
‘Well, long story short, after they died new people moved into the house: Daddy, young daughter Lydia and new stepmom. Maitland’s wanted to get rid of them, so they got me to help them, that’s kinda my thing, you know, scare the breathers away.’ _Breathers?_ Was that supposed to be offensive? It almost sounded a little endearing. And what did he mean: his thing? Like his job? Did he have a job?   
He had stopped talking, as if waiting for her approval to continue, so she could follow him.   
‘Sure.’

‘So they get me involved and then they suddenly change their minds, falling in love with precious little Lydia, but then shit went wrong and they were almost exorcised, so young girl tries to get me to help - I tell her under one condition: she marries me to free me from all of this shit.’ He gestured to himself again.  
‘A little girl?’ Aubrey couldn’t help but point out, and she could easily observe his face morphing into a cringing expression.  
‘Listen, don’t get me wrong, I’m not that kinda guy, it woulda been strictly a marriage of convenience, Satan knows I wouldn’ta done anything inappropriate.’ His tone was almost disgusted, and it was surprisingly obvious that he was honest and serious right now - for once.  
‘Well, whatever, she frees me, I save the fucking day and when I try to make her uphold her part of the deal she freaks, and just when it’s about to be done they fucking kill me.’ Aubrey hesitated for a moment before inquiring further.   
‘Weren’t you... already dead?  
‘It’s complicated, but trust me, It was like dying again, and it was absolute hell.’

A thick silence fell upon the room as neither knew how to continue the conversation. Should she wait until he continued speaking? _Would_ he continue speaking or should she probe further? Should she express her compassion? Focussing on plating her dinner, she scooped a healthy portion of stir-fry onto her plate, hesitating as a thought came to her.  
  
‘You want some?’ **No** , stupid question, Aubrey, why didn’t you just shut up?  
‘Do ghosts have to eat?’ _Shut up_! She mentally slapped herself across the face, the embarrassment clear in her expression. Now it was his turn to hesitate.  
‘Uh, sure. I don’t have to, but I haven’t had anything in centuries.’ What a concept, to be alive for that long. Or, uh, exist…  
Aubrey let her eyes wander over him again as she handed him his food, almost blushing as his cold fingertips barely brushed over her knuckles, goosebumps erupting on her lower forearm, that she quickly moved out of sight. 

A little while passed as they ate in silence, the quiet sounds of her old record giving at least some kind of background noise to lessen the awkward tension between them.

‘This, um… this isn’t meat, is it? Cause either the taste changed, or I - ‘  
‘No, it’s not. I don’t eat meat.’ She retorted quickly, immediately tensing up in her seat.  
‘Ah, you’re one of those.’  
‘Yeah. Please don’t give me shit about it.’  
‘What?’ He was all confusion now, eyebrows furrowed, mouth full of food.  
‘It’s kind of a sensitive subject.’  
‘Sure, Aubs, it’s…’ He paused for a second, obviously careful with choosing his words.  
‘It’s cool, actually, I think.’  
‘Shut up.’  
‘I mean it, tastes real fuckin’ good so who am I to judge?’’ Aubrey felt her heart beat faster in an instant as a familiar warmth spread through her abdomen. That was really nice! Who knew this old demon could be a nice guy?

‘You know, I like you better when you’re not trying so hard, Mr Poltergeist.’  
‘You sure do.’ He laughed, taking the last bite of his dinner before setting the knife and fork down, hands directly moving to rest behind his head.  
Their gaze met again and they just looked at each other for a moment. There was a content smile on his face, his body relaxed, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting.  
Maybe she could deal with this.

‘Though I am a big fan of snakes, so if you want to conjure up some of those at some point, I won’t object.’  
‘I’ve noticed, yeah.’   
‘Though I heard you did something like that with the Maitlands, too.’ He cringed again, his hands suddenly covering his face… in embarrassment?

**֎**

That was sure to ruin all of his chances, blabbering on about the old Maitlands like that. And marrying an underage girl, sure, that’s the thing you bring up when you’re trying to charm a woman you just met. Mentally, he punched himself in the face - hard. If he’d ever, _ever_ had any chance with her as Agnes had insinuated, this was sure to ruin _any_ \-   
‘I’m sorry.’ Her soft voice broke his concentration and his facade at the same time, so painstakingly genuine it caught him completely off guard.   
‘Huh?’  
‘What you told me about. Sorry that didn’t work out for you.’  
‘Oh, yeah.’ There was a long pause as he couldn’t help but give her his most genuine smile.  
‘Th-thanks.’ 

_By Satan, this girl was gonna be the death of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey’s eyes were painfully dry, glued to the piece of paper clutched in her shaking fist. There was no way this was it, this couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Was this his doing? Was she meant to find this? Was this really it?  
> Her lips were chapped from the dry heat of the attic’s radiator, her fingers trembling in anticipation.  
> She was gonna do it. 
> 
> She was gonna say his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't need to say this because you know already, but this one's for @WallWhisperer, again - thank you so, so much for your kind words and mutual love for the B-man, you're a saint! ♡

The icy December wind was harsh against Aubrey’s skin, and although it had stopped snowing, her body was still spasming in violent shudders as she trotted through the thick layer of snow.  
Yes, she could have taken her car or even her bike on a ride down to Winter River, but she’d consciously decided to walk - to take a little time to herself and relax, not think too much for once and just enjoy the serene landscape surrounding her.

Now that she was almost back home, she regretted everything. She regretted not wearing a thicker jacket; she regretted not taking her very much heating-capable car for the quick trip to town, she almost regretted leaving the house altogether. Her thighs were burning from exhaustion, her face and hands felt numb and her throat stung with the scratchy burn of the cold winter air.

Her home had long shown up in the distance, the white facade so easily blending into its snow-covered surroundings, except for the dark roof and bright red front door - man, had she come to love this house.

Stepping close enough to the fence surrounding her overgrown garden, Aubrey saw _him_ immediately. There he was, his body only clothed in awfully hideous neon green shorts and an ugly red Aloha shirt with pineapple-print, bright pink heart-shaped sunglasses on his face as he lounged, contrary to his summery outfit, on a garden chair that was completely covered in snow and ice.

Aubrey shuddered at the sight of him, strictly keeping him in the corner of her eye as she pulled her old woollen jacket tighter around herself. How was he not freezing to death? How was he - dead, he was dead, that’s why. It was a concept she hadn’t gotten used to yet, but he was also absolutely useless at teaching her, behaving like a normal, albeit obnoxious, living person most of the time (except for his constant little magic tricks).

She stepped through the creaking garden gate, diligently closing it behind her, and finally turned fully towards him.  
‘Hey, I’m back!’ she exclaimed, expecting him to be at her beck and call as he usually was, but no. He maintained his position in the garden chair, barely even lifting a finger to greet her. _Okay_.

Aubrey averted her eyes again immediately as the sheer amount of pale skin exposed under his short clothes caught her off-guard for a moment. Turning to her side, she approached the mailbox, quickly storing the few new letters in her tote bag before turning around to the house. It was quite apparent he was trying to get her attention as he kept on chuckling loudly, muttering something to himself every few seconds so quietly, that she had no chance of actually understanding him.

She contemplated inquiring but decided not to. _Just let him have his fun._ Pulling her jacket tighter around her one more time, Aubrey set course to the back door, when he suddenly erupted in roaring laughter. No longer able to remain quiet, she whirled around to him, her confusion prevalent in her voice.  
‘Okay, what the fuck are you doing?’ She barked while his body contracted in laughter.  
‘Shh, hold on babe, I’m reading.’

Red flag #1: Shushing her? Nope, never happened. Aubrey had quickly learned that her resident nameless demon was incredibly clingy, probably because he'd been invisible to everyone for so long, and he thrived on dirty jokes and self-deprecating humour, as well as **any** attention he could possibly get and man - that guy would soak up the tiniest bit of attention like a dry sponge. She’d bet large sums of money on the fact that shushing her had never even occurred to him. Also:

Red flag #2: Reading? Her ghostly friend didn’t seem to be a guy with many hobbies, though he would have certainly had the time for them, he mainly stuck to movies and TV, never any of her many comics or books, but…

Red flag #3: He wasn’t holding a book. He wasn’t holding one of her old paperbacks or well-thumbed childhood comics - he was holding a stack of paper, a creased, moderately thick stack of paper that seemed so oddly familiar and - oh _fuck_.

‘Bloody hell, you’re reading alright! Give that back you fucking - ‘ She basically jumped him, taking him by surprise as she dropped her bag onto the ground to tackle him off of the bench, frantically trying to grab the manuscript - her manuscript - from his icy, dead hands.  
‘Nobody’s supposed to read that! Give it back, this is NOT funny, you - ‘  
‘Oh, I disagree.’ He drawled almost drunkenly, and she noticed their position, him on his back on the ground, her practically straddling his thighs, leaning over his torso to grab the manuscript, which was still held just out of reach. Feeling herself blush, Aubrey quickly slid off of him, determined to bring his arm down towards her, but he simply swooped up from his lying position, floating right in front of her as she got up whilst still easily holding the papers out of her reach.

‘I dunno what you’re talking about, this shit’s fucking good! You’re wicked crazy, babe.’ His voice was gruff as usual, but he was so close to her, his mouth so close to her ear she could actually feel his cold breath waft over her face, her skin immediately breaking out in goosebumps. Shaking off her initial reaction, she reached for the manuscript once more when suddenly, and with a tiny little poof of smoke, it vanished entirely.  
‘Where is it?’ She snarled as dangerously as she could, arms dropping back down to her sides.  
‘Oh, well, I dunno, babe, I - ‘ His playfully mocking tone catapulted her over the edge. In an instant, her hand shot up, almost prepared to slap him square across the face, though settling on his earlobe, harshly pulling him down to her level.  
‘Where. Is. It.’ Aubrey almost growled as he yelped out in surprise, easily following her pull to end up mere inches from her angry face.

‘I… Up - fuck - back up in your office!’  
‘Great.’ Letting go of his ear to pick her things off of the ground, she quickly threw her bag over her shoulder and stomped to the house, knocking the snow off of her boots before making it inside. She was shuddering heavily as she shook off her coat, casually throwing it over the coat rack as he followed her inside like a repentant little dog.

As she made her way through the hallway, he followed close behind.  
‘You’re… you’re not really mad, are you?’ Her silence seemed to be answer enough as she hugged herself tightly, walking straight past him into the kitchen, not even glancing at his dangerously unbuttoned shirt. _Why did it always affect her so much whenever he showed a little more skin than usual? What was wrong with her?_  
Her hands found the kettle before her eyes did, quickly filling it and putting it on the stove before stomping past him again, now towards the sofa, immediately pulling her knitted blanket tight around her shivering body.

He stood in disbelief.  
‘Come on, Aubs, you can’t be mad at me! I mean, you were gone, and I was bored and it was just lying there!’ He was pacing up and down the room now, his hands frantically gesticulating around himself.  
‘And I can tell ya, this shit’s spooky! No wonder I can’t scare ya, you’re so much more twisted than li’l old me.’ She could feel a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, but forced herself to stay calm and give him no reaction whatsoever, her voice cold and emotionless.  
‘Oh, spooky, right? Which is why you’re... laughing?’  
‘What? No, I - I just, I’m just like that, I don’t - ‘  
He stood there, defeated, his body dejectedly slumping down onto the loveseat opposite her, still entirely focussed on her. His insistent gaze sent a shiver down her spine, and she was reminded of just how cold she was, cuddling up tighter into her blanket.

‘You cold?’ Aubrey knew what was coming. She knew he would offer to cuddle, huddle close together and share (nonexistent) body heat, or suggest he knew a few ways to get her all warmed up, _wink wink_. Contrary to her predictions, he simply smiled and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace with a quick flick of his wrist.

She didn’t have to look to recognise the fabric she suddenly felt tightly wrapped around her, her favourite old cardigan transported down here from her bedroom, and carefully draped around her shoulders underneath the fluffy blanket, a steaming cup of tea appearing on the coffee table in front of her.  
‘Thanks…’ she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment as she enjoyed basking in the heat of the immediately roaring fire.

It had been a few weeks since her official first day with him, and… it had taken some getting used to, living with him. He’d taken to scaring her whenever he could, not in over the top ways, preferring to mess with her brain just occasionally, though he could actually be quite funny when he wanted to. His powers, which she had doubted in the beginning, were impressive, being able to transform the world around him and himself so casually as if it were nothing - she’d have to be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the perks of that.

Opening her eyes, she looked straight at his figure, staring into the roaring fire beside him.  
She had a feeling he’d warmed up to her quite well, too. While for the first few days he’d stayed hidden away, rather direct and somewhat rude whenever they talked, she now found herself anticipating his company when he waited for her or greeted her once she’d come home, the two of them often spending their nights sitting huddled together in the cosy attic space, Adam Maitland’s model lighting up the small room as they talked the night away.

Not only had he made her feel less lonely in this big empty house and had helped her cope with the loneliness and stress of living on her own, but in a way, she felt more accepted, and almost like he enjoyed her company. She surely enjoyed his, most of the time at least, and though he sometimes overstepped boundaries, he quickly learned from his smaller mistakes, which was definitely not what Aubrey had expected from a literal demon.  
Yes, he was absolutely drowning her in cheesy pickup lines and heated looks and he could talk for days on end - she'd learned more about history in the few weeks she'd spent with him than the entirety of her school career, albeit very subjective parts - but while he certainly had his faults, Aubrey had to admit she really enjoyed him being there.

He was all over her all the time, clingy and almost desperate in an oddly endearing way, his careless casual touches always igniting a fire within her as he flirted shamelessly, but, of course, that’s all it was - meaningless flirting, meaningless touches, to him at least... She, however, was absolutely fucked.

She felt her lips curve into a frown unintentionally, only then noticing she’d been staring into nothingness for all this time. Embarrassed, she looked around the room to see what he was up to, only to find the room entirely empty, and him gone.

֎

Dinner wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, it was her usual routine, served by around 7, nothing different from usual. However, he still hadn’t shown up again. Had she been too harsh on him? Had he vanished again, for god knows how long?

She’d noticed early on that sometimes, some days, he just wouldn’t show up. He never seemed to notice how much it bothered her when he’d return after a few days of absence, exhausted, smelling of cigarette smoke, alcohol and sex, too involved in his tellings of his grand escapades down in the Netherworld. He’d made it clear to her how much of a kingpin he was down there, apparently, how all the ‘ladies love it, babes, want all of me all the time, it’s real fucking amazin’, trust me.’  
Yes, she might have been a little jealous. Yes, she hated it and yes, she liked him - quite a bit, which didn’t make the whole situation any easier.

She finished plating the pasta, only then noticing she’d cooked for him as well, again. He’d taken to stealing her food from the fridge quite regularly, especially in the evenings when they’d sit together and watch movies. He’d said he didn’t need food, but for someone who didn’t have to eat, he sure could eat a ton.

Plating his dinner too, Aubrey considered calling out for him; maybe he was in the other bedroom he sometimes slept in? She shook her head. If he wanted to come back, he would. Besides, what would she even call out? Not knowing his name was really getting on her nerves more and more.  
She grabbed his plate with annoyance, quickly making her way to the fridge. Whoever made these _rules_ didn't make it easy for him, but there was no way he was forbidden to mention just anything about his name or past. And what would it matter? He didn’t seem to be one for living by the rules anyway, so what would it matter to tell her his goddamn name?

As much as Aubrey enjoyed his company, sometimes she felt more alone than ever. She’d even considered the thought of him being merely a figment of her imagination, only there because she couldn’t bear to be alone in these strange times. Was he? It didn’t feel like it, but sometimes it all just seemed so weird, so surreal and so… fake. 

‘I’m all alone. Just me and my nameless crazy poltergeist.’ Aubrey muttered to herself and loosely grabbed the fridge door to pull it open, her mind still stuck on what his name could be when she almost dropped the plate in shock.  
There, in her fridge, between her sauces and leftover avocado sushi, sat his head, severed, tongue sticking out, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Old, brownish blood was smeared all over the glass shelving as well as his bluish-white hair, and she almost let herself laugh out loud - this being one of the first times his little jokes had actually caught her off-guard.

‘Okay, you got me.’ She grinned, and he quickly let go of his facade, face back to normal, grinning up at her proudly.  
‘Yeah?’ His eyes were gleaming, slowly drifting down to her hands where she still held his plate. With a quick poof, he and his mess were gone from the fridge, and he stood beside her, a boisterous but noticeably fake grin plastered on his face.

‘You got any of that left over?’  
‘Sure, made enough for the both of us.’ His smile fell.  
‘You… made me food?’  
‘Don’t make a big deal out of it.’ He struggled, at a loss for words, which didn’t happen often.  
‘But…’ He stopped again, his sorrowed gaze now finally meeting hers.  
‘Thank you.’ His tone was so soft, so genuine, that it actually took her breath away for a moment.  
Unable to respond, she nodded curtly, feeling the stinging of oncoming tears right behind her eyes. _Get yourself together._ Quickly, she thrust the plate in his general direction and grabbed her own from the kitchen island before rushing towards the sofa.

It took her a few moments to notice he hadn’t followed her and still stood rooted to the kitchen floor where she’d left him. She retraced her steps back towards him and tilted her head in unspoken question.

‘M’sorry.’ he mumbled, almost too quiet for her to hear. Immediately, she was in shock. He rarely, if ever, apologised, let alone so genuinely.  
‘What?’ Aubrey couldn’t help but ask.  
‘Reading your stuff. Won’t do nothing like that again.’ His shoulders were slumped, his demeanour dejected, his eyes focussed on the plate he still clasped in his hands. She shook her head gently.  
‘I’m sorry, too. I kind of overreacted.’  
‘No, no, I just shouldn’t’ve - ‘ She stopped him with a gentle push on his chest, and he stilled immediately. Oh, how she wanted to slide her fingers up his chest towards his scruffy chin and tilt it back up towards her.

‘Just ask.’  
‘What?’  
‘Just ask me, beforehand. Okay?’ His expression was unreadable, but if they had been in an area that was a little more well-lit, Aubrey would have noticed a distinct green blush on his cheeks. She didn’t, however, as she suddenly pushed her plate towards him, remembering the results of her earlier trip to the mailbox.  
‘Oh, oh, here, take this.’ Quickly, she hurried back to the front door to grab her tote bag from the floor.  
‘Don’t eat all of it yet, some of that’s for me too!’ She shouted towards the demon still stood in the kitchen as she crouched down, fishing out the white envelopes inside.

Triumphantly, she returned to the kitchen, holding them up high above her.  
‘Wanna watch a movie?’ His expression morphed into a grin as his posture finally relaxed a little.  
‘S’that a Netflix delivery, I spy? Whatcha got, babes?’ _Oh, back to_ babes _it was. Thank god.  
_ ‘Well, you want something funny or spooky?’  
‘Ya know me, big fan of both.’ She grinned and fumbled with the DVDs, quickly finding the one she was looking for and advancing back towards her ghostly friend.

‘You wanna watch Saw?’  
‘So _funny_ it is?’ He laughed, careful not to spill any of their dinners onto the floor.  
‘I’ve seen it, though.’ He muttered, and she stopped in her tracks.  
‘What, the newest one?’  
‘3?’ Aubrey couldn’t help but grin in relief.  
‘Nope, 4!’  
‘A new one? Let’s do it.’

A while later, they were back in their usual movie-watching-poses, sat next to each other on the old wide leather sofa, legs brushing deliciously whenever one of them moved even the tiniest bit. The dirty dishes stood forgotten on the coffee table as Aubrey cringed at a particularly gory scene, pulling her hands up to her face to hide her expression behind them as she’d done as a child.

‘Awww, come on Aubs, this isn’t that bad! Hey, hey, don’t - ‘ His icy fingers curled around her wrists and pulled them away from her face, forcing her to look back at the screen.  
She cursed quietly and focussed back on the mess of bloody limbs before her, eyebrows furrowed in disgust as she rubbed her tingling wrists absentmindedly.  
Why did his touch always have this effect on her? Every time, every fucking time he touched her, her skin would tingle for hours and hours, and she would crave more, crave his touch and him, everywhere, all over her - shut up. She needed a drink.

‘Hey, do you want some wine? I think I’m in the mood for some - ‘ Not even able to finish her sentence, she found herself holding a fancy old wineglass filled to the brim, another full bottle stood before her on the coffee table. Surprised, she turned to the ghost beside her, only to find him with a bottle of his own, swallowing gulps of the red liquid at record speed.  
‘Thanks.’ She grinned at him as he swallowed and smiled, little droplets of wine dribbling down his chin, disappearing before dripping down to stain the sofa.

֎

A few hours later, they’d moved on to another horror movie, one of her recent favourites: Guillermo del Toro's ‘The Orphanage’. She’d watched the movie by herself about a thousand times already, which was a lot considering it had only come out a year prior, but she just couldn’t get enough of it. Her ghostly companion hadn’t seen it yet, so it had been prime time to introduce him to some good supernatural horror - not that he was particularly inexperienced in that area.

The movie was great, captivating, even, but after it ended Aubrey still felt kind of weird. Maybe it was the 4 glasses of wine she’d had so far, but she felt especially anxious and a little more… adventurous.  
They weren’t sitting on the sofa side by side anymore as they usually did, not her at least. Aubrey had lied down in a somewhat bold position, her head resting on his thighs, legs perched on the backrest of the sofa, eyes focussed on the credits on the screen to her right.

He’d completely frozen up when she lied down, perhaps a little taken aback by her forwardness, but she’d craved closeness to somebody, and she saw no problem with a little cuddling if that was even something that would describe their current position.

Still, as his hands idly played with the strands of her hair splayed down his thighs, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar tingle in her abdomen, her hands absolutely itching to touch him. Aubrey wanted nothing more than to sit up, straddle him and kiss him senseless, wanted her hands roaming his chest and pulling him out of his damned striped jacket, wanted to dip her fingertips under his shirt and feel his cool skin against hers -  
‘Why do you write?’ His voice was groggy yet calm and soothing, the polar opposite of her somewhat shrill reaction as he pulled her from her thoughts.  
‘What?’ He furrowed his brows, fingers curling a strand of her hair around his pinky.  
‘I mean, why do you write that stuff? You don’t publish it, do you? You totally should, by the way, that shit’s gold, I’m tellin’ ya, so how come I’ve never heard of ya?’  
‘Maybe because you haven't left this house in a thousand years.’ She snapped, sitting up to rest beside him, facing as far away from him as possible so he wouldn’t see her expression.  
‘Hey, just because you're right doesn’t mean your words don't hurt!’ He laughed, but his laughing stilled quickly as she didn’t react.

‘Yeah, well I don’t… No, I don’t publish it. I just… my brother used to love the stories I made up for him when we were little, and when - ‘ She felt the lump in her throat and lifted a hand to run it along the curve of her neck absentmindedly while frantically trying not to let the tears spill, face still averted from him as she stood up from the sofa. Her voice was jittery, as was expected, but maybe, _hopefully_ he wouldn’t notice as she continued her mumbling.  
‘Nevermind. None of your business.’ With that, she turned around and walked upstairs to her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a distinct click.

֎

What the **fuck** had just happened?  
 _Idiot_ , you’re a _fucking idiot._ You had her right there, right there, Betelgeuse! She was so relaxed around you, she goddamn motherfucking cooked for you, you bastard! Why’d you have to ruin it? It was just like Juno had always said, they give you a hand and you take the whole arm.  
Why did she react that way? Why did you ask? Why do you even fucking _care_ this much?

**Fuck**. Fuck this, he needed some time off, some time to relax and not think about all these complicated feelings… _Feelings?_ Who said anything about _feelings_?

Ah, fuck it.  
A quick snap of his fingers and the living room was vacant and the house silent, except for the quiet sobs coming from the master bedroom upstairs.

֎

Aubrey had decided to take a day off, today. It was a nice, cosy Wednesday, the sky cloudy, the house practically snowed in, but her nameless demon was nowhere to be seen.  
They hadn’t talked about what had happened a few weeks ago, about her little meltdown after mentioning her brother, but when he had shown up again after a couple of days, drunk and possibly high on whatever substance he’d gotten his grimy fingers on, everything was back to normal.

She wasn’t angry at him for it; he didn’t know what he was asking of her, but it had brought up many repressed emotions from within her that she hadn’t been able to deal with - let’s just say it hadn’t been easy.

Now, however, she had a day off. A day free of artistic struggles or writers’ block, a day free of existential dread and blaming herself for... things.  
A free day, on which she decided she would finally sort out the attic space and make it actually livable; she wanted to finally set up her old telescope and some of her favourite movie posters, things that helped inspire her whenever she was working.

Aubrey had spent some time cleaning the place, dusting and scrubbing the floor and surfaces before she’d turned to the dusty chest of drawers in the corner, mostly filled with useless junk and strange mementoes that weren’t familiar to her at all. However, there was one drawer a little bigger than the others that held a box. It wasn’t very big, about the size of her palm, but it was made of a dark wood with something ornately engraved on it, but it was so old she couldn’t decipher the letters on the tarnished silver plaque.

Curious, and feeling as though she’d stumbled across something she hadn’t been meant to find, she slowly lifted it out of the drawer and undid the also-tarnished silver clasp to open the box.  
At first, it looked like more meaningless trinkets, the small case merely holding a few slips of folded paper and an even smaller jewellery box.

Still intrigued, Aubrey grabbed and opened the tiny box to find an intricate ring, its once shiny silver dulled by the time spent in the drawer, the small stone on top dusty, but very, very pretty. Without thinking, she put the ring back in the box and placed it on top of the chest of drawers, making sure to remember to take it downstairs and clean it thoroughly, then potentially wear it later.

Less interested than before, she moved on to the slips of paper looking to be some of old bills or letters. Unfolding them gently, so she didn’t rip the old paper, she was surprised to find a few copies of the same flyer, some edges ripped or even seemingly burned away.

‘Betelgeuse the “Bio-Exorcist”’ it said in bold red letters across the top, beside a big illustration of a giant bug-like man scaring a family out of a house with an enormous hammer held up above him. Bio-Exorcist - did that mean this was _his_? Was this what he called himself, a bio-exorcist? Was that supposed to mean he exorcised… living people from their homes?

‘Troubled by the living? Is death a problem and not the solution? Unhappy with eternity? Having difficulty adjusting?’ So this was his… job? She could hardly believe he had one, but this? He’d mentioned it was his thing to scare the… what had he called it? Scare the ‘breathers’ away, but she had no idea it was like this. Did that mean he… did that mean he killed people?

‘Call, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse.’

In an instant, Aubrey’s eyes were painfully dry, glued to the piece of paper clutched in her trembling fist. There was no way this was it. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Was this his doing? Was she meant to find this? Was this really it?  
Her lips were chapped from the dry heat of the attic’s radiator, her fingers trembling in anticipation. She was gonna do it. She was gonna say his name.

‘Betel...geuse?’  
‘Yessss, finally!’ Aubrey had barely finished speaking when he popped out of nowhere, a thin layer of smoke surrounding him as he towered over her, cheeks flushed, an orgasmic expression plastered on his face.  
‘By Satan, you have no idea what that does to a guy.’ He let his fingers ruffle his hair as he almost groaned out his words, which - Aubrey would have lied if she said that that didn’t do it for her. Nonetheless, she tried to remain calm and collected.  
‘That’s your name? Like the star?’  
‘Geez, didn’t think you’d know that.’ _Ouch._ Fuck calm and collected.  
‘What, you think I’m uncultured? You think I’m stupid?’ He dropped his smirky expression immediately, small strands of purples slowly making their way down through the hair on the crown of his head.

Aubrey had noticed his hair changing colours, often right in front of her, and she had the sneaking suspicion it corresponded to his emotions like a tacky 80s mood ring, and she **loved it.** Usually, it was a light green, varying in shades depending on his excitement, but then sometimes when he came back from his trips to wherever, it was a dull purple, sometimes mixed with some bright yellow or red, and sometimes when she was bold enough to surprise him with a dirty remark or a naughty joke, she’d notice some pink strands shooting up from his roots, a faint blush on his cheeks and a nasty smirk on his lips.  
She didn’t know what the colours meant, not really at least - she had her suspicions.

Now, however, his hair was a mess of colours, the base bright green but the crown of his head sprouting with yellows, pinks and purples as he stammered for a reply.  
‘What? No, no no no no babe, I didn’t - ‘  
‘Shut up, asshole.’ She stepped towards him with determination, definitely invading his space, to rest her hand on his chest for a moment before firmly pushing him back so he stumbled onto the corner sofa behind him.

Thanks to the perks of having been in this house for so long, he was so familiar with the layout that he simply let himself fall backwards, landing safely on the edge of the comfortable corduroy couch.  
‘Whoa, hey there, listen Aubs, if you’d just say my name 3 times, I‘d be really, _really_ grateful.’ She stepped closer to him, her expression intentionally neutral, unreadable as he kept nagging.  
‘You've already said it once, just give me two more.’ _What will you give me in exchange?_ She wanted to ask, but decided not to.

‘You really want me to?’ she smiled, her voice deeper and suggestive while he continued wildly gesturing with his hands.  
‘Yes! You’d save me! I’d be grateful for eternity, I’d owe you, you know, yours truly at your service as your own personal… whatever you want.’  
She was so close to him that their knees were touching, him now leaned back in his seat, her still stood before him, towering over him for once - it made her feel _powerful_.

‘Ask me nicely, then.’ She smirked, her voice dripping with confidence. She knew at once he wouldn’t comply, his posture now suddenly closed up, shoulders back, shrugging almost in condescension as his pride came in the way.

‘I don’t beg, babes.’

_Ugh, what?_ What was that, why would he react like that? Talk about toxic masculinity. In an instant, she had a thought: If he was playing hard to get for something HE wanted from HER, she wasn’t only NOT going to play along - she’d put on an act for him, as he did so often to her. _She’d show him._

‘What a shame.’ Aubrey whispered as she leaned down towards him, delighted to observe his confident grin fade and his eyes flicker back and forth between her eyes and lips.  
‘I mean, I, uh…’ he stuttered as she fell to her knees before him, now almost at his eye level, forcing his legs apart with her torso as she leaned closer towards him.  
‘P-please?’ His stance was more subdued now, looking at her with pleading puppy eyes, his hands digging into the sofa and - Oh sweet Jesus, she liked him submissive.

Aubrey had never been a particularly talented actress, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t tease him back for all the times he’d been overly salacious or had made so much more of a single suggestive gesture or touch - this was revenge.  
Leaning in close to him, she noticed his gaze not moving from her eyes until she started talking, then flicking down to her lips, hovering just inches from his own.  
‘You really want me to say it, Betelgeuse?’  
‘Fuck yeah, come on baby, third time’s a charm! I’d - ‘ He stopped mid-sentence as she moved even closer to him, supporting her upper body weight by leaning on his thighs, her breath intentionally hot on his face before she breathed in and almost lost her composure.

His scent was so masculine and earthy, so distinctly _him_ , his eyes cloudy and overcome by sheer enjoyment that it nearly broke her facade. As she leaned in closer to brush her cheek softly across his scratchy beard, her lips now close to his ear, Aubrey revelled in the fact that she could feel him enjoying her little charade, definitely feeling an impressive tent forming in the crotch of his loosely fitted striped trousers.

She heard his breath hitch and his whole body tense up as she tightened her grip on his knees and took a shuddering breath to, with the most gentle, seductive tone she could muster, whisper in his ear:  
‘I don’t think you deserve it yet.’

Full stop.

‘What?!’ Turning away at once, Aubrey could feel the sexual tension dissipate, his voice sounding gruff, confused and disappointed all at once.  
‘You heard me. Gotta prove yourself a little more first.’  
‘You can’t - what - I… I - come on babe, you can’t do this to me! You just gotta say my name one more time and I’m good to go. Just... come on.”

She stood with her back to him, slowly making her way back to close the drawer she had left open, swinging her hips excessively as she went.  
‘Fuck, what a fucking tease…’ he mumbled behind her, making her smile to herself as she bent down provocatively to push it closed, only to notice another thing left laying in it.

Brushing her fingertips over it carefully, she realised it was an old book, abandoned to spend its days upside down in this stuffy old cabinet. Curiously, she lifted it up to turn it around in her hands.

Her blood ran cold. Forgotten was the putting-on-an-act and the teasing, forgotten the tension between them, her racing heart and the ache between her legs - this was insane.

This was even better than his flyer, than knowing his name - this was information, concrete, written information…

She let her fingers run over the white letters on the cover, tracing each one in awe. This had to be a sign, this absolutely had to be a fucking sign, there was no way it would be here otherwise - there’s no other way she would have been able to hold it in her hands right now:  
The Handbook For The Recently Deceased


End file.
